At this point the door opened and a dejected apparition in a ruff and
petticoats, like a rumpled remnant of a pre-war pageant, drifted in and
sat down on a bed.

"Ah weel, Queen Elizabeth, hae they dune wi' ye yet?" inquired McPhee
sardonically.

Gloriana shook his head. "They're playin' musical chairs," he said
gloomily, "so I thought as I wouldn't be missed for a bit. This thing
round my neck does tickle, but my nurse'd be awful 'urt if I took it
off."

McPhee emitted an ejaculation--Gaelic, I believe--usually expressed in
writing "Mphm."

"Sma' things," he said, "please sma' minds.... Wha won the prize?"

"Number Two Ward," said Queen Elizabeth indifferently, "sweets. They're
eatin' 'em. They'll have stummick-aches to-morrer.... But there--it's
the least as we can do to let the nurses 'ave their bit o' fun."

Nurse Robinson hurried up to me on my way out. I thought her looking a
trifle anxious.

"I'm feeling rather worried about one of my men," she began, "Private
McPhee. I wonder if you saw him just now?"

"Oh, yes," I said, "we had quite a long chat."

"Oh, I'm so glad," she exclaimed, "I was really quite afraid he was
wrong in his head. Do you know, he simply refused to dress up for the
party ... and you know how they love dressing up! Such a good dress,
too--CHARLIE CHAPLIN.... And I couldn't get a word out of him! Wasn't it
strange?"

"Very," I said; "convalescents get all kinds of fancies, don't they? And
was the party a success?"

"Splendid!" she said, brightening up. "Of course it's meant a lot of
work. We've been toiling early and late at the costumes. But I'm sure
it's worth it. It does please the poor fellows. Draws them out of
themselves, don't you know."

* * * * *

From a Company notice-board at the Front:--

"Men must again be warned about matter they are putting in their
letters. No places where we are or where we are going to are not
to be divulged. Those having done so in their letters have been
obliterated."

We had no notion that the Military Censorship was so drastic as that.

* * * * *

A FANTASY.

If you were a white rose Columbine
And I were a Harlequin,
I'd leap and sway on my spangled hips
And blow you a kiss with my finger tips
To woo a smile to your petal lips
At every glittering spin.

If I were a pig-tailed Buccaneer
And you were a Bristol Girl,
A-r